


terrible and wonderful

by Iverna



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 07:05:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8655304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iverna/pseuds/Iverna
Summary: A bit of an AU where Killian remembers and Emma does not. Not really speculation, more just inspired by recent spoilers and the thought of Emma “meeting” Killian in full pirate swagger mode.





	

Killian Jones has lived through a lot; some of it terrible, some of it less so, and some of it (the smallest portion, but the one he treasures most) rather wonderful.

This current predicament definitely ranks among the terrible—ripped from the new home he’s only just begun to build, away from his family, his friends, his love. Cursed, not like the others to forget, but to remember. He remembers, even as he walks across the deck of his ship, acting like the ruthless captain he once was. He remembers as he listens to talk about the royal family and their beautiful daughter, the princess Emma.

The woman he loves. The woman who loves him. The woman who has forgotten that he even exists.

And once again, he is powerless against the magic that has torn them all apart. Part of him is relieved that it’s him, this time; the last time, it was Emma who remembered, Emma who had to bear the burden of knowing who she was amidst people who did not remember, Emma who had to look at him and see the total lack of recognition in his face. He would not wish that on her again.

But she was always the one with magic. She’s the Savior. He’s a pirate. All he has is a steel hook, a sharp blade, and a silver tongue.

And the finest ship in all the realms at his command, but that no longer carries the same meaning it once did.

He doesn’t know what to do. He does not expect her to figure it out.

But when she walks into the tavern one night, he knows her immediately. She’s wearing a peasant’s dress, similar to one he pilfered for her long ago (so long ago, hah!) but more modest in cut. She carries herself with the same sure grace, the same commanding air that he swears he would recognise anywhere.

She sits alone, and he can’t help it. He’s drawn to her like a moth to a flame. And it’s such a bad idea, for so many reasons, and he’s begging for trouble and he knows it...

He walks over.

She notices him when he’s halfway across the room, and he has the sudden and unexpected pleasure of seeing her eyes widen. Her shoulders stiffen slightly, but she twists towards him slightly, and her hand drifts up in an unconscious gesture to brush her hair from her face. For a moment, he thinks that she recognised him, against all odds—it wouldn’t be the first time she did the impossible—but that hope is quickly squashed when she doesn’t smile, or rush towards him, as surely she would if she knew. Not recognition, then. But there’s... something.

He smiles at her, a crooked, cocky expression, the corner of his mouth lifting along with one eyebrow.

She blushes.

But she doesn’t turn away, or cross her arms, or roll her eyes, or do any of the things Emma Swan would have done before she’d really come to know him. For the briefest instant, she looks like she might avert her eyes, but instead, her gaze simply sweeps down, taking in all of him. He almost trips over his own feet at the look on her face. She looks, for all the world, like a woman who likes what she sees.

_Oh._

He covers the remaining distance in a few swift strides and moves his scabbard so he can swing his leg over the bench to join her on it. “Hello, love. May I buy you a drink?”

Her eyes are bright in the tavern’s dim light when they meet his, and it hits him like a tidal wave, recognition or not. She’s a shock to his system, she always was. He never stood a chance, really.

“A drink?” she asks, and despite the blush and the note of shyness in her smile, her wry tone is the same as always. “Is that what you want?”

He grins in delight before he can help himself. She may not remember him, but she knows him all the same. “I admit I rather hoped for the pleasure of your company to go with it,” he admits.

“I don’t drink with strangers,” she tells him. It should dim his spirits, but it does not. She’s looked on him as a stranger before. This is much more pleasant, so far, especially given the teasing note in her voice. She may see him as a stranger, but he knows that look. It’s the look of a woman who has laid her eyes on a devilishly handsome pirate captain, and Killian knows that it probably makes him a bastard of the first degree, but he can’t walk away. To have Emma Swan looking at him like that is the stuff of dreams. Something to tease her about when the curse is broken and she brings up his stint as a deck hand again.

And suddenly it seems very easy to believe that the curse _will_ be broken.

He holds out a hand. “Killian Jones. At your service.”

“Are you really,” she says in that same wry tone. But she puts her hand in his, and he almost laughs then, because for once, he doesn’t have to adjust his grip or turn her fingers. She places her hand in his like she expects him to kiss it—a princess born and raised, it seems.

“Utterly,” he assures her in a low voice, allowing his lips to brush across her skin. It’s been so long since he’s been near her, since he’s touched her, that even this is intoxicating. He can feel her pulse jump under her skin, and he has a brief, fierce battle with the urge to kiss his way along her wrist and pull her closer.

She’s studying him, the slightest of frowns on her face, the one she gets when she’s using magic or puzzling something out. She makes no move to withdraw her hand. He makes no move to let go, his fingers cupped around hers, an easy, light touch that goes through him like a whole flask of rum.

“You’re not going to ask my name?” she asks after a moment.

“Would you tell me if I did?” he counters. She’s a princess here; hardly a woman who would just wander into a tavern and give her name to a man she just met.

It surprises her, though it’s barely noticeable; all that royal diplomacy put to good use. “No,” she says, with one of those impish little smiles that he wants to kiss so badly, to see it widen and turn into laughter and appreciative moans when she relents and kisses him back.

“Then what do I call you?” he asks, playing along. He shouldn’t, he knows, and he certainly shouldn’t delight in it, but... it’s been a long time since he’s been near her. It’s been a long time since _this_ , the banter, the teasing, the glint in her eyes, and he’s missed it. He’s missed her.

“Fine,” she says with a little laugh. “I’m Mary.”

Killian manages to suppress a grimace. There aren’t many things he wouldn’t do for Emma Swan, but he is not calling her by her mother’s name (or her mother’s fake name, he still isn’t entirely sure how that works, and don’t even get him started on David).

“No, you’re not,” he says with renewed bravado and a twinkle in his eye, shifting on the bench and leaning forward just a little. He tilts his head, as if considering. “Swan,” he says.

Something flashes across her face, sharp and so _Emma_ that he almost pulls her into his arms on reflex. It’s quickly replaced by confusion, but he saw it, and hope blooms a little warmer in his chest even as she asks, “What?”

“Swan,” he repeats, eyes intent on hers. “That’s what I shall call my mystery lady. Pretty and graceful and fully capable of breaking a man’s arm.”

She doesn’t tell him that she’s not his lady. She merely laughs quietly, shaking her head. “You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?”

“I’m told that I can be.” He winks.

“And a pirate,” she adds, a note of challenge in her voice, though it stays light.

He’s rather less willing to admit to that one, unsure of how this Emma will react to that, but then, there’s a reason why she’s here in this tavern instead of the castle. It’s the same reason why, even as a cowardly deck hand, he fought a dragon and duelled with David. She is still Emma and he is still Killian and they have never shrunk from who they are, even when life made it easy, even when their roles were assigned to them.

“Aye,” he says. “I’m that, too.”

She reaches out, playing her fingers over the hook that he has rested on his thigh. “Captain Hook.”

He has no feeling in the appendage, but he swears he can feel it all the same, heat spreading through him in waves. He swallows hard. “Aye,” he says again, hearing the way his voice has darkened, grown a little husky. “There are some who call me that.”

She doesn’t look scared. But then, she doesn’t need to be; she may not remember him, but she still has magic, and she must still know how to handle a sword. With a fierce burst of pride, he thinks that there is no realm or reality in which Emma Swan cannot best him, or anything else that life throws at her.

She looks at him, a speculative tilt to her chin. “I prefer Killian.”

It’s a challenge, but it’s one he immediately concedes. He has spent weeks pretending to be someone he’s not, and it’s a relief to drop the act for once, to be honest, as he can be with her. “So do I, love. So do I.”

She stays with him. And of course it is not just a drink. Of course it is not just smiles and laughter and an evening spent in pleasant company. Of course she wants something, because she’s the Savior, whether she knows it or not. There’s a plan, whether she knows it or not.

And of course Killian swears that he will help her, his heart soaring a little more when she believes him. Trusts him.

But first, just for a while, they sit and talk and share a drink. And he teases and flirts rather shamelessly, and she looks at him with dark eyes that keep straying to his lips, and it’s the sweetest, most maddening, most wonderful torture that Killian has ever lived through.

It is not easy—never easy, not for him, not for them. But it is definitely, always, worth it.

 (Later, much later, once the curse has broken and Emma is back in his arms with love in her eyes and his name on her lips, and he tells her that this is an even nicer greeting than what she gave him in the tavern, and she hits him on the arm for his trouble, he thinks that it really was more wonderful than terrible, after all.)


End file.
